The Slip

Chapter 8

8

“HI PAUL… I MEAN DIRECTOR Greenfield,” Julia said mock sheepishly as she entered, keeping the door open just long enough for her salutation to be heard outside his office.

Paul Greenfield, Director of the CIA could be a little formal at times and while Julia's relationship with him allowed some informality (at least in Julia's mind), she knew he appreciated an official address in earshot of others, and she playfully enjoyed his scolding glare.

Paul was not a sentimental man but he had a soft spot for troubled youth. He was the first person she talked to at the agency when he was the head of the Clandestine Service, now known as the Directorate of Operations (DO). Julia had been in her early twenties. It was a rough period in her life working multiple jobs to earn enough to live on her own. Some of the jobs she tried to forget but she did what was necessary to get away from her adoptive parents.

Paul had approached her at the coffee shop she regularly visited, handed her his card and said he would like to talk to her about a job with the CIA. “Think about it, we might also put you through college. My numbers on the card,” he had said and then turned and left. She remembered he seemed aloof, like she was someone he randomly picked to approach; almost disinterested. She later understood that this was just his way. He never exhibited overt emotion, but his actions told a different story.

Julia had eventually contacted Paul and agreed to attend a local university in exchange for a 5 year commitment with the DO. Paul was always there to provide encouragement when the going got tough, and eventually became the most stable person in her life those four years of school and to some degree beyond. When she graduated he became her boss and shepherded her through the Professional Trainee Program followed by the Clandestine Service Training Program and then into regular service.

She later discovered the agency did not have a program to pay university tuition for incoming trainee’s. A fact Paul continued to deny to this day. Julia wasn’t sure where the money had come from but she did come to know a few other recruits from difficult backgrounds who had a similar experience as her in conjunction with Paul.

“Julia, good to see you, please have a seat. Against my mother's wishes we will have to skip the niceties and get right to business.”

Against “my mother's wishes”? Always a strange bird, Julia thought.

“Julia, there was a full cabinet meeting with the President late last night regarding some alarming reports coming in from the CDC and a large number of hospitals around the country. There are apparently many recently admitted patients with a variety of diseases typically not seen in North America.” Paul got all this out before Julia’s rear hit the seat of the leather guest chair in front of his ridiculously out of place ornate mahogany desk, which looked like it should be in a Victorian mansion.

Julia feigned a thoughtful pause to digest the information while trying to situate herself in the old-fashioned club chair. The tall, solid wood, leather adorned arm rests forced Julia to keep her arms at her sides lest she look like a bird about to take flight. She also had to lean forward on the front edge of the chair to avoid being sucked into the depths of leather. It forced the occupant to sit forward in a reverent pose, elbows at sides with hands clasped or in one's lap. Perhaps this was Director Greenfield’s desired goal, to keep his guests from getting too comfortable.

Julia took it as a challenge to find a position of some decorum. She was again failing as Paul interrupted, “Julia, the President has asked all agencies to return with initial thoughts and recommended actions at a follow-up meeting tomorrow. DARPA has been tasked with leading and coordinating the investigation and they have pulled their best man for the effort. Hopefully, with DARPA in the lead all the agencies will play nice with each other but the historical record is against us.”

She concealed her antipathy and with the death of another small part of her ego Julia gave up and leaned forward, elbows on knees, hoping she looked engaged and not like she was squatting on a toilet. Either way, she needed to focus and make Paul un-tilt his head and stop looking at her quizzically.

“Because the President called a cabinet meeting, I assume someone views these as unnatural events. Any cause determined yet? Are we talking about chemicals?” she said.

“The CDC is working as quickly as they can to help local hospitals diagnose the diaspora of symptoms, but it seems clear we are dealing with multiple viruses such as Ebola, dengue fever, necrotizing fasciitis, and other diseases rare in this part of the world,” Paul said as he returned to a more businesslike expression.

Was that a hint of a wry grin at the corner of his mouth? Certainly not, Julia thought. “Is it possibly an environmental failure at an infectious disease lab? What other details were given at the meeting… and what the hell is necrotizing facial whatever you said?”

“Lab breaches were discussed and none have been reported. What we know at this point is that the infections are not confined to a small area. The reports are coming in from thousands of hospitals throughout the Midwest and in parts of the northeast. The CDC estimates initial infections occurred two weeks ago, and the symptoms are pointing to the worst of the worst diseases with high mortality and contagion rates.

“There are so far over 10,000 deaths attributed to the initial round of infections. About 150,000 people die in the U.S. in any two-week period like we are talking about, but percentages from these diseases has never been seen before. Some of these diseases are extremely contagious and there could be many more rounds of infections and patients depending on how many patient zeros there were and how many of them got to the hospital before transmitting.

“We don’t know how people are being infected, why it is happening in these locations, and most importantly how to stop it.

“The President has indicated that we are to treat this as an act of aggression as far as internal protocol, with everything staying highly confidential until we know more, in order to avoid a public panic. The CDC is pushing back hard on keeping this under wraps but that is where things stand.

“And necrotizing fasciitis is better known as flesh-eating bacteria which is apparently quite nasty and hard to control once it takes hold, often requiring amputations and such to cut off the path of infection in the victim.”

Stunned and involuntarily wincing from the imagined pain Julia said, “Unbelievable! Where do I start?”

“Read through all the information we have to date and then report to the DARPA team,” Paul said.

Julia imagined Paul smiling his form of a proud approval after she had turned to leave his office.